


Shopping Malls Suck For A Reason

by eighth_chiharu



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Incest, M/M, Omorashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-25 23:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13223313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eighth_chiharu/pseuds/eighth_chiharu
Summary: Dave and Bro are out Christmas shopping (gotta snag those sweet deals while they can), but long lines mean no bathroom breaks...





	Shopping Malls Suck For A Reason

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stridercore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stridercore/gifts).



> For the Stridercest Secret Santa :)

If there was one thing Bro hated, it was having to be cool for more than ten minutes. Yeah, he was the king of chill, but it wasn’t all songbirds and roses. It took effort. Serious effort, sometimes. People underestimated the prodigious amount of effort it took to maintain a perfect, unruffled facade. Bro liked to blame those trite little sayings like “Cool as a cucumber” that made people think that being awesome was an inherent feature in someone’s personality rather than a way of life. A monk had patience, but few people thought to test it in earnest. Cool guys? The world always seemed to be out to get them.

As was the mall. This mall. The goddamned fucking Christmas Special mall, packed full of people who didn’t know how to fucking shop in advance for a holiday every single goddamned one of them knew was coming. It came every year. Every single fucking year.

_Wow, Marge, is it Christmas again??_

_Yes, Doris, it sure fucking is, why ain’t you got your obnoxious little grandson his Playstation 17 yet, too busy browsing knitting sites on your ancient HP Netbook?_

… aright, that was mean. But serious, why was every damn person in the entire city crammed into this shit mall the weekend before Christmas? And why were they all in the exact same department store Bro needed to be in? And why was there only one fucking register open when there was a queue of people all the way back to the kids’ section, wrapping around past Housewares and into Ladies’ Lingerie? For real, who the fuck was in charge here??

“Don’t worry, Bro,” Dave said, arms full of jeans and shirts and other shit that was on mad sale, and the only reason they were on this craptastical journey in the first place. “We’ll be done soon.”

“Ain’t worried,” Bro drawled, holding his own pile of merch. He looked up the long line toward the harried girl at the register, then back down the line. He and Dave were about halfway, or maybe just past. The tail end didn’t quite reach the restrooms, which was good, because wow that would suck and/or stink, and nobody should have to endure that during this funky fresh season of goodwill.

The sight of the little blue man standing on the sign reminded Bro that he hadn’t had a chance to go since dinner, and he’d had three pop refills at McDonald’s. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, trying to forget that he had to piss like a racehorse.

“You keep glancing back there. See anyone famous?”

Bro snorted. “Yeah, fuckin’ Brad Pitt. He’s in the back, toward the john. Why don’tcha go check it out? Might lose your spot, though, these people are out for fuckin’ blood.”

They were, too. The shoppers were pressured, Christmas looming far too close for comfort, and anyone seen cutting the line was set upon faster than a jackal on a lame gazelle. Or whatever jackals fucking ate. Bro wasn’t too sure, he didn’t specialize in jackals.

God, now that he remembered he had to go, he had to fuckin’ go. He looked back again before he could stop himself, mentally measuring the minutes to the register versus the minutes to the back of the line, divided by the violence potential of his fellow shoppers. There, Mrs McGillicuddy, how was that for high school math? Algebra up the ass and back again, goddamn right.

“You gotta take a leak?” Dave asked, tone so smooth that astronauts probably had him rap at their space shuttles to make that shit frictionless.

Bro ignored him, but something in his stomach tightened. The slight pressure in his guts intensified, and he had to shift his weight again. Fuck.

“You can run back,” his little brother offered, in a way that sounded nothing like a creeper. Nope, hold the phone, Dave was a total creeper. The Grinch and his Stolen Christmas had nothing on that amount of smug anticipation. “I’ll hold your shit.”

“I’m good.” He wasn’t, but what was he gonna do? Now that he knew Dave was watching, he couldn’t possibly go back there. He couldn’t sneak out to the end of the line, relieve himself, and flash back before any but the most super observant of old biddies noticed he’d even stepped away. It was totally possible, but Bro was the most cool dude in this entire packed building. There was no way he could admit he was starting to have a problem.

Dave didn’t even shrug. He just put his nose back in his phone, flipping through whatever pretentious website he was into lately. Artsy pictures of windows. Teenagers with beards. Cats sleeping on just about anything. Okay, the cats were pretty neat, but everything else was lame. He wasn’t gonna tell Dave that, though. Didn’t wanna discourage his artistic inspo. Dave’s work was amazing. The kid really had vision. Bro loved seeing Dave’s stuff, and that was the only stuff, besides his own, that he’d ever gush over. Gush like a fountain. Like Niagra Falls. Bro was the Jellystone Geyser of affirmation, just sploosh everywhere --

Aw, _fuck_.

He didn’t move his weight this time. He just sorta slid his legs together, straightened up and squeezed his thighs in a calm, subtle way. Totally undetected. Definitely.

“If you gotta go, just go.” Dave was watching him, not on the phone at all. Hell, when had he done that?

“Ain’t you got nothin’ else t’ do but keep tabs on me?” Bro almost snapped, except he was way too chill for that. He said it calm, full of patience. Like a monk. He wasn’t suddenly nervous, not in the least.

“Nope.”

“Fuck off.” It sounded cold, but it wasn’t. Dave expected him to say shit like that. It was the beginning of the game.

Planned or unplanned, this was how this little song and dance worked. Dave wasn’t cool enough to keep his penchant for peeing to himself, the fuckin’ piss monkey, but he sure as shit jumped on a wetting opportunity when it reared its seductive, embarrassing head. It was like Gay Chicken. One of ‘em was gonna give in, and Dave was always ready to see how things played out.

Dave was closer, leaning in like he was just moving up with the queue, following the family arguing in Spanish in front of them. Nothin’ to see here, move along folks. Except he jabbed his finger hard against Bro’s lower stomach with a precise aim that only Balck Ops snipers and high-paid, deep-web hitmen could appreciate. Bro grunted and stumbled a step as a sharp pain shot through his tender, overfull bladder. He dropped his hand to his groin and squeezed hard, blushing furiously.

“Don’t have to go, huh?” Dave smirked quietly.

Bro dragged a breath in through his nose, biting back a groan. He pried his own hand away via sheer determination, before any of the other shoppers could see. A grown man cupping his own fucking crotch like a damn toddler.

“You suuuure?” It was even quieter this time, Dave’s hand staging another sneak attack, this time over Bro’s shirt, stroking the now-throbbing outline of his slightly-protruding belly. Softly, under his breath, to the tune of that goddamn Snowman song from Frozen, he added, “Do you wanna use the bathroom~?”

Bro pushed Dave away, clenching harder against the weight in his lower half. It was dumb as hell, but shit, he loved it when Dave’s attention was only on Bro. The phone had vanished, and Dave was watching Bro like a middle schooler watches Tumblr after she’s sent anon hate to her mortal enemy. Or a vampire watches the lady it’s fucking. Edward and Bella, reciprocation of the lust. Circle jerk. Daisy chain. Back and forth and deep and wet.

Fuck, _fuck_. His dick was half hard, and he fucking needed to piss like he didn’t believe. All he could think about was the mind-numbing, throbbing need in his abdomen, the one that Dave liked, the one that would get his Shorty goin’ like there was no tomorrow.   

The line moved up another couple customers, and now they were only about ten people back. Another register had finally opened, and Bro sensed dim hope glimmering at the end of the long, loooong tunnel. Damn, maybe this time would be one of the times where he’d hold out long enough to make it home. None of those awkward, really damp moments where Dave stared at Bro with a huge chubby in his pants.

Dave’s hand was back, flat palm against Bro’s stomach, pressing firmly, slowly. “Spill it for me, big man,” Dave whispered. “Right here. Drop it like it’s hot, wanna see you drench your Levis.” Bro moaned soundlessly, only breath hissing out and cutting off, but Dave didn’t stop. His hand slid lower, heading toward Bro’s crotch, safely hidden beneath the load of clothing Bro’s carrying. “Wet yourself right here, right now, right in the aisle of the fuckin’ Macy’s --”

That did it. Bro shoved his merch against Dave as the need to urinate turned into a yowling, desperate demand. His body was done, it was outta here, the pee was gonna leave the building, and if Bro didn’t move somewhere else, it was gonna happen on the scarred Macy’s linoleum for the whole cantankerous world to see.

Peeing himself for Dave was one thing; doing it for all of Texas was somethin’ else entirely.

Not caring if Dave caught the pile of shirts and pants and saved them from the dirty floor, Bro turned, striding toward the “RESTROOM” light as fast as he dared. He couldn’t flash over there now, the stress would make him lose it. He marched instead, a speed-walker in the last leg of the Speed-Walking Olympics, goin’ for the gold and a sponsorship with a shoe company that made comfortable, sensible heels for working moms --

His bladder pulsed, and he leaked, and he shoved his way through the line, breath catching. The white tiled hallway that led to the bathrooms loomed up before him, and he left the now-shorter line behind him, far behind. He practically ran to the men’s room, the urgent, screaming pressure ready to let go.

_Gonna pee gonna pee gonna pee --!_

He reached the door just as he thought he’d lost. He grabbed the metal handle, yanked -- and the door remained stuck. He blinked, doubled over as another spasm crushed his bladder, and jerked the door handle harder, but it wouldn’t open. The lock rattled against the doorframe, the deadbolt stuck secure, and he saw the sign that read “Out of Order” half a second before his control, that infamous, Cool Guy control, snaps like a too-tight wire.

The urine gushed out, flooded out of his still half-stiff cock to soak the entire left side of his jeans. The wet stain spread like ink spilled across a table, rushing toward the nearest edge. It spilled down his pants leg, a fucking waterfall of hot, stinking piss. He froze, hand clutching the door handle, mortified as he just kept going, a puddle growing under him, around his sneakers, more and more and more until it was seeping beneath the bathroom’s locked door. The entire front of his jeans was dark and wet, clinging to his skin as it began to cool, and he was all by himself without a bathroom --

“Bro!” Dave touched his arm, slipped his hand to Bro’s groin, and squeezed Bro’s cock gently. “It’s okay, big man, I’m here.”

Bro shook his head, the relief at Dave being there like a Christmas miracle. “I made a fuckin’ mess,” he says hoarsely. He felt stupid, but happy at the same time. Dave was here, Dave would make everything okay. Dave was looking at him, touching him like he was something special. Fuckin’ A, but he loved Dave.

“ ‘s okay, it happens,” Dave said, voice low. He held up the only clothes still in his hands: a pair of new jeans in Bro’s size. “There’s a changing room right around the corner. C’mon, I’ll take you. Put your hand on my shoulder, yknow what I mean. The Blind Man bit. And hold these pants in front of you. No-one’ll notice.”

“But…” He had to protest. Despite the warming sensation in his guts, the different heaviness that was starting to build up down low, he was still embarrassed. He’d fucked up, peed on the floor like a kid, and Dave had to help him.

Dave took his hand off Bro’s wet crotch and gave him a little smile. It was… Well, shit. It was fuckin’ turned on, that’s what it was. “Come on,” he repeated. He took Bro’s hand, turned around so he was facing away from the bathroom and its mess, and plopped Bro’s palm on Dave’s shoulder. “Let’s go. Don’t wanna wait, do you? We got stuff to take care of.”

“Lots of stuff,” Bro said.

“Lots,” Dave agreed. “Oh shit yeah, we got lots.”


End file.
